


we were never tragedies

by donutsandcoffee



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, History
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 05:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsandcoffee/pseuds/donutsandcoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am Israel,” the boy says, “and I hereby declare myself a sovereign country.”</p><p>England shrugs, France claps, and Egypt walks up to him and punches him.</p><p>The boy—Israel—growls and leaps towards Egypt, who barely manages to evade him; Israel lands on Syria instead, and Syria motions to Iraq to join in the fight. In mere seconds, the formal event turns into a brawl, hands and feet and screams and groans. It feels like an eternity before one by one nation falls, the sound dies down, and Israel stands among them, brown eyes piercing the room. He looks a little bit small and a lot confident, and he stands as if it is where he is supposed to stand.</p><p>America stands still, stupefied.</p><p>The year is 1948.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we were never tragedies

**Author's Note:**

> De-anon from [this prompt in hetalia-kink](http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17337.html?thread=53180857#t53180857).
> 
> I am by no means trying to further a political agenda here. I'm a Christian Asian and a proud Indonesian (a country with one of the largest Muslim populations in the world), so I am not partial to any side of the much-disputed issue at hand. All the historical facts used here are things I learned from the GCSE International History syllabus, which spans from 1945-2000 and focuses on Cold War, rise of religious fundamentalism, and Arab-Israeli conflict among other topics
> 
> I do try my best to be historically accurate and additional/correction on historical facts/infos are welcome. :)

“I am Israel,” the boy says, “and I hereby declare myself a sovereign country.”

England shrugs, France claps, and Egypt walks up to him and  _punches_  him.

The boy— _Israel_ —growls and leaps towards Egypt, who barely manages to evade him; Israel lands on Syria instead, and Syria motions to Iraq to join in the fight. In mere seconds, the formal event turns into a brawl, hands and feet and screams and groans. It feels like an eternity before one by one nation falls, the sound dies down, and Israel stands among them, brown eyes piercing the room. He looks a little bit small and a lot confident, and he stands as if it is where he is supposed to stand.

America stands still, stupefied.

The year is 1948.

 

* * *

 

This isn’t when the story starts.

 

* * *

 

 

America loves parties, but he hates  _this_.

He’s now in the Middle East and it looks every bit like a party, all champagne and alcohol and music, but it has never felt like one. The air is thick with sugarcoated lies and sugarcoated compliments, sweet sweet  _sweet_ , and America feels sick. He wants to go, but Russia is there and Russia will make friends.

America must have more friends than Russia.

Iran is Iran, tall and young, pale-skinned and brown-eyed, all smiles and praises.  _I have heard so much about you, Alfred_ , Iran says, swirling his glass as the alcohol inside licks its edges,  _my house is undergoing the White Revolution, you know. You’d like it. You’d love it._

Saudi Arabia is Saudi Arabia, plump and short, skin even paler and eyes liquid brown, more threats than compliments.  _Here’s a funny story_ , he says, and he smiles, but the smile is twisted and sharp, like a knife.  _Russia called me yesterday. I didn’t answer his call, but he’s been persistent. Maybe I should answer it next time, don’t you think, Alfred?_

America can see Egypt, keeping his distance, as if he’s unsure whom he likes more, Russia or America; he dresses like America and eats Russia’s food, so America isn’t sure, either. America can see Afghanistan at the edge of his vision, laughing with Russia, and something in America’s stomach twists and turns.

He ignores it and turns away.

America finds himself facing the other side of the ballroom, and his eyes catch the sight of a boy, sitting alone at the corner of the room, playing with a knife in his right hand. The boy is young— _you are young_ , England would scoff,  _not even a millennium old_ —but the boy’s  _young_.

The boy flicks the knife he’s been playing with, and it hits the O in the ‘United Nations’ poster, dead center.

America blinks. He wants to ask,  _what’s his name_ , but nobody seems to acknowledge the boy’s existence, so he doesn’t.

“Don’t call me Alfred,” America corrects them instead, and walks away from the crowd.

Fuck making friends. He has more money than Russia anyways.

(Russia has more guns, though. America tries not to think so much about it, and decides that he should simply buy more guns.)

 

* * *

 

 

He finds out later that the boy’s name is Israel, and that they are, technically, brothers.

“Oh,” he says, willing away the image of the young boy, clear brown eyes piercing the room, as if he’s sure of who he is and where he is, of who he should be and where he should be.

(Unlike America.

America had the whole world in the palm of his hands, his and Russia’s, so he turned to Russia and asked him to be heroes together, but Russia hated him, Russia _hates_ him, why does Russia hate him, did he do something wrong,  _what did he do wrong_ —)

 

* * *

 

Later on, America can’t help asking England about Israel, because America can’t help asking England about anything.

“That lad, he—“ England pinches the bridge of his nose, “he gave me headaches. Not as much as you did, of course,” and he doesn’t even pause to acknowledge America’s indignant whine, “but. I asked him to share lands with Palestine. They didn’t want to. Kept on going about this religion thing, land given by God, and, and things like that.”  
  
_Who are you to say about religion_ , America doesn’t say. “So, no separation of church and state?”  
  
“No, definitely no. So I left the three of them—Palestine, and Israel, and Transjordan—to their own devices. And they started having quarrels. Mostly about territory.”

“When was this again?” America asks.  
  
“1948,” England says, “you were there, remember?”  
  
America vaguely remembers a brawl, brown eyes piercing the room, but he remembers Russia more. Russia was also there, and Russia smiled, a small tilt at the ends of his lips, more amused than anything.

America shakes his head, as if he can physically force the memory out of his head. “I. Uh. Yes?”  
  
England sighs. “Do you ever actually listen to anyone?”  
  
“I’m the hero,” America says, “everyone listens to me.”  
  
“Not everyone,” England says, and America only pouts, not thinking about Cuba, or Egypt, or China, or Russia, or anyone else,  _really_.

 

* * *

 

  
The year is not 1948.  
  
America doesn’t know what year it is—he’s too busy running the world to care—but he knows it’s the sixties. It is hot, sweltering heat permeates the air as the sun glares down, just like he expects Middle East to be.  
  
America finds Israel lying down on an open field. From afar, he’s a splotch of flesh color in the middle of sprawling, uniform green field, and he sticks out like a sore thumb. This can turn into a good analogy, but America specializes in ignorance.  
  
“You want to hang out together?” He says instead, crouching beside Israel, an ear-to-ear grin plastered on his face. Israel tilts his head aside, but doesn’t sit up.  
  
“You’re friends with them,” Israel says after a while. “Are you sure you want to be friends with me?”  
  
“They aren’t my friends,” America says immediately, a second too fast, and he quickly covers his mouth.  
  
There’s a small smile playing on Israel’s lips. “But why do you even want to,” he makes quotation marks with his fingers, “’hang out’ with me?”  
  
America considers that. “You are strong,” he says, then pauses again. “Also, some of my people like you. A lot.”  
  
This time, Israel tips his head back and laughs out loud. “It’s because they are also my people,” he says, and he stands up, cleaning non-existent dust from his pants, “thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass. We’ll hang out another time.”  
  
And with that, he walks away.  
  
America thinks he might’ve said something wrong. But he then thinks about his boss, going on and on about Policy of Even-Handedness, and he thinks about Russia, hands on Saudi Arabia’s and Iraq’s shoulders, and what would  _they_  think about him being friends with Israel? Maybe, he tells himself, he’s not so wrong.

 

* * *

 

  
(America tells himself that, a lot.  _You’re not so wrong, Alfred_.  
  
Iran comes knocking into his house, and he is drenched in blood. “My boss,” he chokes, tears running down his cheeks, and America pulls him into a hug and squeezes his shoulders as the smaller nation sobs, and America doesn’t say that he was the one who pulled the trigger.  
  
_You’re not so wrong_ , America tells himself.  
  
He believes himself less and less.)

 

* * *

 

America doesn’t see Israel again until 1967, when he decides to visit the younger nation’s place after a war. He’s heard a lot about Israel’s much-disputed house, but he never knew it was  _this_  large.  
  
“I saw you in a party a couple of years ago,” America says immediately as soon as he sees Israel, because he’s never one with the small talks, “it was way before our encounter in the field. You were, uh, there was this knife. You played with it for a while before throwing it, and it hit the ‘O’ in the poster, dead center.”  
  
“I would say ‘welcome, America, please make yourself at home’, but obviously you already do,” Israel says, amused.  
  
America blinks. Israel’s voice is deeper than he remembers, and he slowly takes in Israel’s looks, now almost as tall as him and looks as mature. America clears his throat.  
  
“ _The point is_ ,” America says, “ever since that day, the day with the knife throwing—I know you were strong. And you are strong, evidently, and my people like you, and I like you, so. Be my friend?”  
  
Israel barks out a laugh. “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, America?”  
  
The line takes him by surprise, and America feels his face heat up. “No—I—what—“  
  
Israel smacks his back good-naturedly. “I’m just joking!”  
  
America pouts. “Not funny.”  
  
Israel just continues to laugh. America doesn’t wait until the laughter dies down before asking, “so?”  
  
Israel finally stops laughing, but there’s a small smile on his face, and America feels a déjà vu. “America,” Israel says, “do you know why I didn’t take up your offer, last time?”  
  
America doesn’t feel intimidated. He never feels intimidated, lately, at least not by someone other than Russia, and yet he has to stop himself from squirming at the question. “No?”  
  
“It was because you weren’t honest with me.”  
  
America frowns. “I wasn’t lying.”  
  
“And you weren’t,” Israel agrees, “but you weren’t completely honest, either. Especially not with yourself. So I’m going to ask you the question again, for the last time—why, America?” Israel sighs, piercing brown eyes now looking into America’s bright blue ones, and America thinks of a brawl, and a young kid who stands like he is where he’s supposed to be. “Why do you want me to be your friend?”  
  
And it just comes crashing down on him.

“ _Russia_ ,” he breathes out, almost choking on his own words that tumble down and out of his lips like domino blocks. “It’s Russia, always Russia. Russia’s with Egypt and my boss said—he said there was this thing, this arms deal, with Czech. And Russia was—was really close with Afghanistan. And there was Iraq, with Russia, and it’s really—it’s really not long before everyone fucking becomes one with Russia and  _I need you_ ,” America gasps, “ _to be my ally_.”  
  
America feels breathless. It’s not that he didn’t know it, but—America specializes in ignorance, and he tells himself that he isn’t so wrong, that he likes Israel, but it’s all Russia, just Russia, who hates him for reasons America can never figure out, who chose communism over capitalism.  _Ivan_.  
  
Israel is smiling, as if he can see what’s going on in America’s mind, and is satisfied by what he sees.  
  
“Glad to have you as a friend, Alfred,” Israel says, and America doesn’t correct him.  
  
He’ll learn to like Israel.

 

* * *

 

  
The year is 1973.  
  
Israel is hurt, and America reaches out for Israel’s hand, slowly entwining their fingers, and they stand like that for a long time, hand in hand, in front of the burning rubbles of Israel’s house.

 

* * *

 

  
This isn’t when the story starts.

 

* * *

 

  
Russia is laughing,  _actually_  laughing, and America can’t help grinning widely at the sight. He can no longer remember what they’re laughing about, but he has never been happier before in his life, and he reaches for Russia’s hand only to be pulled into a tight embrace, Russia's hand around his shoulder, his head on Russia's.  
  
The year is 1917.  
  
This is when the story starts.

 

**Author's Note:**

> For any possible confused readers: the point I’m trying to make is, at the end of the day, the US/Israeli special relationship started due to Cold War reasons. Yes, it’d evolve later on, transcending geopolitcal interests, but it always started due to Cold War interest.
> 
> A.k.a, everything Alfred did in Cold War, Alfred did it for Ivan.
> 
> Also this is long and you don’t really need to read this; this is just for those who wanted to know the (abridged) historical background of this whole US/Israeli special relationship issue.
> 
> [1] _The year is 1948_ —immediately after Israel declared its independence, several Arab nations (Egypt, Syria, Iran and Transjordan, among others) attacked Israel, culminating in the Arab-Israeli War of 1948. Israel, won, of course.
> 
> [2] _The White Revolution_ —Shah Reza Pahlavi was the ruler of Iran in the 1950s. just like his father Shah Reza Khan, he advocated modernization, wanting to replace the country’s Islamic ideology with a secular nationalism, partly to appeal to the West. 
> 
> [3] _The alcohol inside licks its edges_ —the champagne/alcohol in a party filled with Islamic nations/secular nations with Muslim majority is intentional. The idea was to emphasize their irrational drive towards Westernization.
> 
> [4] _Egypt, keeping his distance_ —a popular interpretation of Egypt’s role in the Cold War history is that it actually managed to use the superpowers to further its own interests. It was never a proxy. Egypt was able to have close ties with both USA and USSR, though later on it would lean more to Communism.
> 
> [5] _Russia has more guns, though_ —factually inaccurate (Russia wouldn’t achieve nuclear parity until Brezhnev, who was much more aggressive than Kruschev after Cuban Missile Crisis), but this is Alfred’s POV, and I believe USA was in so much paranoia they perceived the Russians to be militarily stronger than them.
> 
> [6] _They are, technically, brothers._ —Israel—or, technically, the area that would later on be called Israel, was part of the British mandate.
> 
> [7] _He turns to Russia and asks him to be heroes together_ —Roosevelt had a vision called the ‘Four Global Policemen’. It basically envisioned USA, USSR, China and England as the primary actors to maintain international peace and security. So much for that.
> 
> [8] _Some of my people like you_ —Jewish lobby, anyone?
> 
> [9] _Policy of Even-Handedness_ —The US used to try to be neutral, once upon a time. The logic is simple: being friends with Israel = angering Arab nations = angry Arab nations would turn to Russia.
> 
> [10] _“My boss,” he chokes_ —1953, Mohammad Mossadeq nationalized oil companies in Iran. This move hurt America and (mostly) England, America's ally, who wanted to have control over Iran’s oil, so the CIA launched an operation called Operation AJAX. They assassinated Mossadeq and put American-friendly Pahlavi in power. [This opening scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Ym_zikybGk&ab_channel=GiovanniRivera) from the movie _Argo_ summarized the situation well.
> 
> [11] _until 1967_ —Six Day War. Israel won the war in six days, and this showcased Israel’s military might and was the last push for USA to take Israel as its ally.
> 
> [12] _Russia’s with Egypt and my boss said—he said there was this thing, this arms deal, with Czech. And Russia was—was really close with Afghanistan. And there was Iraq,_ —these are...allusions to a lot of things that are too long to explain here. If you’re interested, google these: Czech Arms deal, Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, Soviet-Iraq relationship.
> 
> [13] _The year is 1973_ —Yom Kippur War. Israel lost, this time.
> 
> [14] _The year is 1917_ —this is one year before the Communist Revolution. in 1920, the Communist won, and Russia became a communist country. This is, arguably, the foundation of the cold war, which consequently means the foundation of US-Israel special relationship. In other words: this is when the story truly started.


End file.
